Poems
by Filtered Sunlight
Summary: A small collection of poetry that is all centered around Wolfstar.
1. Laughter

**Hello, again. Shocker! Second time in one weekend! I guess I'm just feeling writey. Well, this is about to be painful. I am not very good at poetry, but I decided I would get it out here, so here is my first poem. I plan to have a small collection of poems about (what else?) Wolfstar. This is only the first, and I will likely get better as I go on. Please no flames. I already know how bad I am at this.**

**No beta. Will there ever be one?**

**And, as always, I don't own them. I will never own them. And I might have to tell myself this every day.**

**. . . . .**

I like your laughter

Which is very silly to say

Because everyone likes that.

Let me rephrase.

I like when I make you laugh.

Because when the sound fills the room

It fills me too.

It makes me feel like

Maybe I am a person

And maybe you _do_ love me.

Like dogs barking

Or possibly bells ringing

In a church steeple.

Big

And rounded

With sharp edges

That sounds more like music than our records ever will.

At least to me.

I like that when you laugh

It makes everyone else laugh, too.

Which is very silly to say

Because everyone likes that.

We are all forever pulled

Into this beautiful laughter

That tickles

Like feathers

And dust

In our chests

And rumbles in our stomachs.

I listen to the sound

That makes me feel more things at once than anything else.

It removes the scars

That the moons have carried

And it wipes my mind

Free of the horrors

That plague my waking hours.

I like when you laugh in the hospital wing

Which is not at all silly to say

Because no one else gets visits from you.

I like it when it echoes in the dull

Sickeningly quiet

Blank

Room where I lay

After a night of pain.

When it rings off the walls

My heart grows

It seems

And I feel less of a monster.

I like it when you kiss me

Which is very silly to say

Because everybody likes that.

But I'm the only one that hears 'I love you'.

Which I like.

Your kisses feel like laughter

On my lips.

They tickle in the same way.

Light and sweet

Even when we clack our teeth

Or slip up.

They feel like the sunlight

That slides through the hangings

On bright mornings.

They tickle in the same way.

Light and sweet

Even when they taste like grins

And faintly of dog.


	2. Silence

**Second poem. Third post of the weekend. WOW. **

**Please review!**

**Not mine (except the mistakes).**

**. . . . .**

There is something to be said for silences.

Silence is where relationships are built.

In the cracks of the conversation

That are sliced in throughout the day

Like the holes in lace.

Which is all lace really is.

Lace is special

Thanks to the holes.

There is something to be said for quiet.

The quiet at night

When you lay in your bed

And listen to the roaring nothingness

And it fills your ears.

Or really,

There is something to be said for the lack of the quiet

Knowing that the other person is there

Across the room

Just in the next four poster

And a universe away

That quells the rushing sound of emptiness.

Which is really

One of the best parts of knowing you.

Not really.

You have far too many other perks.

There is something to be said for spaces

When the drags of a cigarette are taken

And sips of butterbeer are swallowed.

But really

The spaces stopped being awkward so long ago

I can't remember what it was like before.

After a certain point

The spaces became neutral

And blank

And nothing.

But now

The spaces are comfortable

Filled with ease

And something more.

Something warm and sweet

Something that feels like cotton

Stuffing the holes in your body.

I guess that is what love does.

It fills the holes

And turns the space

Into warmth.

But I guess what I am actually saying

Is that you and I are lace, Padfoot

Because we are beautiful.

Thanks to the holes.


	3. Stars

**Third poem! I hope you enjoy it.**

**. . . . .**

When it falls on your hair

I can't help but think it looks like midnight.

The glittery sparkles of silver

Like stars

Strewn across your ebony hair

Like sky.

I can't help but think it looks like midnight

When it trickles through the cracks in the curtains

And the red and gold hangings.

I can't help but stare

When it glides over your face

In the dead of night.

The only time I like moonlight

Is when it touches you.

When it is graced by your presence

In splatters of molten silver

That dance over the pavement

When the clouds forget to do their job.

I hate it the most when it falls on me

And catches in my most dull hair

Like drops of water

Clinging to a spiderweb of tawny tangles

And knots.

Or when it illuminates my bare skin

And casts shadows where my scars raise.

Where it highlights the remaining traces of "me".

I hate it most when it reminds me

That I am not worthy of you.

Which it does every night.

When the glinting of the moon

Burns my skin

Where it touches down.

The heat of the stars it creates

Only exist on me

In white hot pinpricks

Of light.

And even when I hate it most

You are there

Present

In my times of most need.

Perpetually falling in

And out

Of my realm of consciousness.

And when it falls on your hair

I can't help but think you are midnight.

Inky black

But strewn with stars.


	4. Remarkable

**Fourth poem. This one is SHORT, but I hope you like it anyway.**

**. . . . .**

I think I find comfort in our little tragedy.

If it had to end up

Like it did,

At least it was remarkable.


End file.
